


The Basketball Coach

by Persiflage



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Basketball, Bisexual Phil Coulson, Daisy Johnson is the only Marvel Superhero, Dom/sub Undertones, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Hotel Sex, Mentions of Mack/Bobbi, Mentions of Meldrew, Mentions of Steve/Sam, Older Man/Younger Woman, POV First Person, POV Phil Coulson, Tumblr Prompt, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 21:49:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9788648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: AU: Daisy's the new CompSci teacher at Heart Vale Community College, where Phil coaches the women's basketball team.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts).



> I saw a long list of AUs on Tumblr, and this one _“There’s a scrawny black cat in our neighborhood that hates everyone and everything but follows you around for some reason and I see you pet it and feed it fish fries are you a witch?”_ caught my eye.
> 
> Oh, and in case it's obvious - I know v little about basketball (aside from the fact that Clark Gregg looks hot when he plays!) - and everything I do know, I learned online!

The first time I see you, you're sitting on the steps leading into my apartment building, eating fish fries, and feeding bits to the scrawny black cat that I've seen several times around our neighbourhood. I'm surprised because I'd tried to befriend that cat myself and had had nothing but scratches to show for my trouble. I know, too, that I'm not the only one who'd tried and failed to make friends with it – and several of the mothers in our building have warned their children to stay away from it since it was clearly a vicious, feral cat. 

As I approach the cat turns its attention from you to me, and its whole demeanour changes from the apparently tame (I don't for one moment make the mistake of thinking it is tame) cat sitting calmly on its hind legs begging bits of fish fry from you into a hissing ball of black fur. I wince, despite myself, and hunch my shoulders defensively, then stare in disbelief as you lay your fingertips gently atop the cat's head, speaking softly for only a moment, before it settles down again.

"Are you a witch?" I blurt out, before I can consider the wisdom of the question.

You laugh, a beautiful sound like a peal of bells. "No, Mr Coulson, I'm not."

I frown, wondering how you know my name. "I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Ms – ?"

"Johnson. Daisy Johnson." You pat the concrete beside you, and I give you a slightly incredulous look – I'm wearing a suit, after all, having just got home from work, whereas you're dressed in jeans and a shabby leather jacket over a dark green button down shirt that's unbuttoned far enough to reveal quite a bit of cleavage when you lean forward to feed the cat a final piece of fish fry.

I feel a bit embarrassed about noticing your cleavage, but you aren't exactly hiding it, and while I don't make it a habit to leer at women, especially women young enough to be my daughter, you're a very attractive young woman with long dark hair in a braid down your back, big, dark brown eyes, and a quite gorgeous smile. 

You ball up the greasy paper from your meal, then get to your feet, and ask, a little tentatively, "Want to come up for a coffee?"

I'm a little surprised by the offer, but intrigued enough by you, and particularly by the fact you know who I am even though I've never seen you before, to accept. "Thanks."

We make our way inside and you pull a pack of wet wipes from your pocket and proceed to wipe the grease from the fish fries off your fingers, and I find myself charmed by the gesture. We step into the elevator and I gesture at the buttons.

"Which floor?"

"Eight."

"Oh." Now I'm even more bemused – I live on the eighth floor, and I'm not aware that anyone new has moved in, or that someone's moved out. It's not that I'm nosy, simply that I'm on the apartment building's community team.

"I'm staying in Mike's apartment," you tell me. "He's away for a few weeks with work, and Ace is staying with his aunt, so Mike offered to let me crash at his place until I can get a place of my own since I've just moved here from LA."

"Mike did say he was going to be away," I agree, and you nod. 

You let yourself into Mike's apartment and I follow you inside. I've visited with Mike and his son Ace several times in the year since they moved in, and even sat with Ace a few evenings when his dad's been out on a date so the apartment's not unfamiliar to me.

"I knew Mike back in LA," you tell me as you shed your leather jacket and hang it on a hook inside the door before moving down the hallway to the kitchen.

"He's a good man," I say. He's been bringing up his son alone for 4 years since his wife left him when he lost his job – he hurt his back at work and had been laid up, and his boss, whose fault the accident was, fired him. I knew he'd struggled for some time until the construction company he'd worked for had paid out a sizeable sum in compensation – enough to allow Mike to have an advanced surgical technique carried out that had not only repaired the injury to his back but made him considerably stronger. "And Ace is a great kid."

You smile at me over your shoulder as you set about making the coffee, and I put my briefcase down on one of the chairs around the little round table that's in the breakfast nook.

"How do you take your coffee?" you ask.

"Black, one sugar, please."

"I asked you in for coffee because I wanted to get to know you a bit," you tell me, which makes me raise my eyebrows in surprise. You smile, a wide grin that lights up your whole face, and I feel a little stirring of desire which I do my best to squash.

"Why?" I ask.

"I'm the new CompSci teacher at Heart Vale," you tell me.

Heart Vale Community College, where I teach English and History, and coach the women's basketball team.

"The Head said she'd found someone to replace Miles Lydon. She didn't mention any names, however."

"Miles is my ex," you say, and I blink in surprise – it seems very coincidental that you should be staying in Mike Peterson's apartment and be the ex of Miles Lydon, two men with whom I'm acquainted. "We stopped dating after he moved here for the job. He's not into long distance relationships."

I bite my lip and nod, but say nothing. Though I wasn't well acquainted with Miles Lydon, I'm well aware of his reputation as the college stud. I knew that Maria Hill had stepped in more than once because he was playing fast and loose with the women students, and then he'd suddenly announced he was going to work for Stark Industries – right in the middle of term. 

You hand me a mug of coffee, then settle in one of the chairs in the breakfast nook and I sit beside you. There are a number of questions I'd like to ask, but I swallow them down reasoning they're none of my business, and ask instead, "How did you charm that cat?"

You chuckle, a rich, warm sound that goes straight to my groin, to my annoyance. "My father was a vet – and I used to help him out in his clinic from quite a young age. I learned the knack of making animals calm down when I was about 6." You smirk at me. "It works on people, too."

"Handy," I observe. I wonder about your use of the past tense when talking about your father – wondering if he's merely retired, or passed.

You nod, then ask, "Will you tell me something about my new colleagues?"

"Who have you met so far?"

"Just you and Dr Hill," you say with a quirk of your lips. "I literally only arrived in Manhattan two days ago. I went in yesterday to scope out the IT department's equipment, but I didn't see anyone else."

"Spring Break," I offer, and you nod.

"I figured that. But since term starts on Monday, I'd like to have some idea of who I'll be meeting."

"Okay. I teach literature and history, and coach the women's basketball team. There's Melinda May, who's head of the athletics department, and gives self-defence classes. I guess you know that the majority of the student body is female?"

You nod again. "That was one of the reasons I applied for the post," you say. "Trying to encourage more women into IT."

I smile. Somehow I am not surprised by this. "Bobbi Morse teaches the hard sciences, and her partner Mack teaches engineering. Melinda's husband, Andrew Garner, is in charge of the Psychology program, and is a therapist with his own private practice. Natasha Romanov teaches language studies and Steve Rogers teaches art. His partner, Sam Wilson, is in charge of fund raising and assists Dr Hill with running the college generally. Trip teaches math and is my assistant coach." I shrug. "It's a pretty diverse faculty – we're 50% white and 50% people of colour on the staff. About two-thirds of our students aren't white, and of those, a little over half have English as a second language rather than their native tongue."

"I guess I even out those racial numbers," you say. "Since I'm 50% white. My mom was Chinese, but my dad was white American – from Wisconsin."

"Huh," I say, and in response to your raised eyebrows, I say, "I'm from Wisconsin. Well, originally. My dad taught at a high school in Wisconsin, but he died when I was 9, so mom and I moved to Boston to be nearer her mother."

"I'm sorry," you say, reaching out to squeeze my forearm, your tone so full of sympathy that I feel a little embarrassed – after all, it's more than 4 decades ago.

"Thanks." You pull your hand away slowly and I immediately miss the warmth of your touch.

"I hear the women's basketball team's been riding high in the championships," you say, changing the subject gracefully. "You must be a really great coach."

I blush a bit at this. Which I'll admit is a foolish response, but I've never found it easy to accept compliments from beautiful women. "I do my best."

You snort, and my eyes widen at you. "Yeah, okay, Coulson. Your best must be pretty damn good, though."

"They're a good team," I tell you. "Especially the point guard, Akela Amador. She's one of the best players I've ever had the privilege of coaching."

"I'd like to see them play," you say, and I feel a warmth pooling in my stomach. 

"Practice is on Tuesday evenings, 5 – 7pm."

"I'll be there," you say, and I nod, swallow the last of my coffee, then get to my feet. 

"I should get going," I say.

"Hot date?" you ask, which seems pretty forward for a woman I've known for only 90 minutes. Though I'll admit to myself that I like your boldness.

I snort. "Only with a stack of essays," I retort.

"It's Friday night, Coulson," you say, sounding almost scandalised.

I laugh. "And I'm due to hand these essays back first thing on Monday morning," I tell you.

You shake your head, your expression despairing, then laugh lightly. "I'll let you get going, then."

"Thanks for the coffee."

"Thanks for the low down on the staff," you say, and I nod, then grab my briefcase, and you walk me to the door.

"If I don't see you before, I'll see you in the staff common room on Monday morning," I tell you, and you smile, then nod agreement. 

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

As far as I can tell, you settle in well at Heart Vale: my colleagues all seem to be full of praise for your friendliness towards them, and your students are equally full of praise for your teaching skills. I see you about our apartment building and about the college campus, usually in the staff common room, on an irregular basis, and I occasionally catch sight of you sitting watching the basketball team practice. I'd like to see more of you, but I'm pretty sure you wouldn't be interested in dating a man old enough to be your father, so I don't go out of my way to interact with you.

But then, some six weeks into the new term, I get a bit of news from Melinda May that changes things. 

"You're serious?" I ask Melinda, who scowls.

"Of course I'm serious Phil."

"Okay, okay. I guess I'll have to ask Daisy to come with in your place, assuming she doesn't have any plans for the weekend."

Melinda nods, then turns and hurries away, and I go in search of you. You aren't in the staff common room, so I head down to the computer lab, and find you bent over your laptop, typing busily. I knock on the door frame, although the door's open.

"Sorry to disturb you," I begin, then frown when you seem to jump a foot in the air in surprise at my interruption.

"Geez, Coulson, creep up on a girl, why don't you?" you say, sounding cross.

"Sorry," I say, holding up my hands placatingly. "I didn't mean to creep up on you." I hadn't, in fact, crept at all, but it's obvious to me that you were concentrating so hard you were oblivious to anyone and everyone else.

You shake your head, then fold the lid of your laptop down. "It's not your fault. I'm sorry I got mad." I open my mouth to brush off your apology, but you ask, "What can I do for you?"

"Melinda's unable to come with us on Saturday for our away match – her two children have gone down with chicken pox, and Andrew's gone away for a conference, so I'm short of a chaperone for the basketball team. Is there any chance you're free?"

"What does it entail?" you ask, sounding curious rather than reluctant.

"Basically ensuring the team's not troubled by any men invading the locker room while they're using it. It'll mean an overnight stay, though – the match isn't until 5 o'clock, so we'll be staying in a motel overnight, then coming home on Sunday morning. We're likely to be back around noon Sunday."

"Sure. I'd like to come and see them play a match."

"Thanks. You're a life saver." I smile gratefully, and you smile back, and I feel a flush of heat in my belly and groin. "Meet in the parking lot at one tomorrow," I say a little hastily, then back away and hurry up the hall towards my office.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

The match goes very well, Akela, in particular, is on storming form, and I'm sure it's only a matter of time before she gets picked up for the NBA. I'm a bit surprised, however, by the suppressed fury on the faces of Gideon Malick, the coach of Hydra High's team, and his assistant, Grant Ward. After all, Heart Vale has beaten them often enough for it not to be that great a surprise. It's also a surprise when I see Malick berating his partner in vicious tones – it's the first time I've met Ros Price, a dark-haired woman with sharp features and a rather abrasive manner when Malick introduced us pre-match. From the corner of my eye, I can see him shaking a meaty finger in her face, and I wonder if I ought to intervene. Before I can make up my mind, however, you're at my side, your hand curling around my left elbow.

"Coulson," you say in a low voice. "There's something I need to show you."

I look at you, puzzled by the intense expression in your eyes, and the urgent undertone of your voice. "What's wrong?"

"Come with me," you say, and lead me aside; the team's already headed into the locker room to shower and change, so I let you guide me to a seat in the stands. It's only as we sit down that I notice you're carrying your laptop.

"You brought your laptop to the game?" I ask, uncertain whether to be annoyed or not – after all, you'd said you wanted to watch the match.

"It's just as well I did," you say, and I give you a puzzled look.

"Trip told me about the intense rivalry between Heart Vale and Hydra High," you say. "And I looked up the stats, and also info about their team coach and assistant coach, and I got to wondering."

I frown at you. "What are you saying, Daisy?" 

"I'm saying that Malick had that Price woman try to knock your team out today." Your tone is flat and uncompromising, and I'm a little surprised by how stern you seem. "Watch this."

You open the lid of your laptop and set a video playing, holding it up so we can both see, and I watch in astonishment as I see the team's locker room appear in the video, then see Ms Price enter it just before the end of the second quarter, just before the half time interval – the video is date-and-time stamped. She heads to the water cooler, and I can clearly see her slipping a vial of liquid from her purse, and pouring the contents into the water cooler, before she disappears again.

"She spiked the team's water?" I say incredulously. "But – they were okay. Did – what's going on, Daisy?" 

You clamp your hand around my wrist, and I'm surprised to realise you're quite a lot stronger than I'd have supposed. "I was watching this from my seat," you say. "So as soon as the Price woman disappeared, I went into the locker room and swapped out the water. Then I called Bobbi and asked her to come and analyse the water. I wanted to be sure of what it was before I brought this to you."

"But why was there a camera in the locker room? That's a gross violation of the team's privacy, and – "

"Relax, Coulson," you say calmly. "I asked the team's permission to install it first, and promised that I'd turn it off while they were in there actually getting changed."

"But why?" I ask, growing ever more agitated. "What made you take this action in the first place."

"Because I'm a very suspicious, untrusting person, Phil," you say, and I realise this is the first time you've ever used my first name. For some reason it grounds me, and I take a deep breath, then exhale slowly. 

"Okay, so what did Bobbi find?"

"The vial contained a disgusting little brew that was a combination of a laxative and a strong sleeping drug. It would've flattened anyone who'd drunk more than a couple of mouthfuls."

"Where's the bottle of water you swapped out?" I ask, getting to my feet.

"I gave it to Bobbi. She and Mack are sitting out in the parking lot, guarding it."

I nod. "Ask them to bring it in. We're taking this straight to the ref." She nods, and darts away, and I head around the edges of the court to meet Nick Fury.

He's a tall, muscled black man with a straight-forward no-nonsense manner that I've always found comforting, rather than intimidating, though I know some coaches are very intimidated by him. I signal to Trip, who's chatting to a young white woman with long brown hair and a young man about the same age, who looks like a science nerd.

Trip speeds across the court to my side. "Hey Phil, what's up?"

"Just a moment," I tell him, then turn as you come rushing up, still carrying your laptop, with Mack and Bobbi close behind. Mack's carrying the water bottle, and I see Fury frown as he takes it in before turning an enquiring look at me.

"Sir. I wish to make a complaint, to whit that the coach of Hydra High tried to spike my players' drinking water."

"What?" Fury doesn't shout, but he doesn't need to – his voice has an arctic chill to it, and his expression is carefully controlled, but his eyes are as chilly as his voice.

You show Nick the video footage, then Bobbi explains the analysis that she ran on the water sample you had given to her. Fury watches and listens in silence, his gaze laser-focused, then he nods and beckons over one of the other referees. Fury explains the situation to him, and the man looks shocked, but gives a sharp nod, then hurries away. 

"I'll want my own people to run an analysis on this," he says, tapping the bottle of water that Mack had set on the ground.

I nod, then turn as Malick, Ward, and Price arrive. Malick's expression goes hard and I can see the controlled fury in his body as he spots the bottle of water. Ward looks shifty, and Price seems to shrink in on herself.

Fury repeats my accusation, and Malick starts blustering immediately, but Fury cuts him off without compunction. "This accusation will be investigated thoroughly, Mr Malick," he states with finality. "If it's found to be true, your team will be barred from ever playing college basketball again. In fact, Hydra High will no longer be permitted to field a basketball team, and you three will be disbarred from any involvement in basketball from the NBA down." He glares at the three of them. "I do not like cheaters."

"You'll be hearing from our lawyers on this, Fury," Malick snarls. Ward grabs the older man's arm when he starts to lift it – whether to punch Fury or simply shake his fist in the other man's face, I'm not sure. 

Ward and Price shepherd Malick off the court, and Fury turns back to the rest of us. 

"That was some very smart thinking, Ms Johnson," he tells you, and you blush charmingly at his praise.

"Thank you, sir."

He nods, then looks at me. "I'll be in touch Mr Coulson."

"Thank you, sir."

"I leave it to you whether or not you tell your team about this – personally, I'd let them enjoy their victory – they won fair and square, after all."

I nod, and he nods back, then turns away, his colleague carrying the bottle of water. I turn my attention to my own colleagues. "Trip, call the hotel and arrange for a bottle of champagne in each of the player's rooms." His eyes go very wide, but he grins, nods, then turns away, pulling his cell phone from his pocket. I look at Bobbi and Mack. "Thanks for coming, and for your assistance. I appreciate it."

Mack nods, but Bobbi gives me a light punch on the arm. "Always glad to help, coach," she says.

"Are you staying over or driving back?" I ask. 

"We'll head back."

"Drive safe. I'll see you both on Monday." They nod at me, then take it in turns to hug you, before crossing the court towards the exit.

"I don't know what to say," I tell you.

You shake your head. "You don't need to say anything," you say firmly. "I did it for the team."

"Can I buy you dinner, at least?"

"I'd like that," you say, grinning.

"Good."

You step into my personal space and clasping my arm, lean up and kiss me on the cheek. "You're a great coach, Phil," you say, your breath tickling my ear, which sends a thrill of pleasure through my body.

"Daisy," I say, my voice sounding strangled in my ears.

You smirk. "I need to go and look after the team," you say. "I'll see you back at the hotel?"

I swallow hard, then nod. "Text me once you're back?"

"Sure."

"I'm going to head back there now – I want to call Dr Hill and apprise her of what's happened. She'll want to be kept in the loop."

"Okay." You smile at me, then turn and cross the court towards the locker rooms.

DJ-PC-DJ-PC-DJ

I've been pacing my room at the hotel for ten minutes when you text me to say you've arrived, and giving me your room number, which is three doors along from mine. The team are on the floor below ours – since they're grown women, I don't consider it necessary to share a floor with them: I don't want them to feel I'm policing them when they're meant to be relaxing and celebrating their win. And they deserve to relax and celebrate since they're now through to the quarter finals of the championship.

I knock on your door, and you call 'come in', so I go inside. I close the door behind me, turn around, and then simply stand and stare because you're in your underwear, a matching set of lilac panties and lacy bra. My mouth goes dry as all my blood starts to head south, and you give me a lazy smile.

"Hi Phil."

"D-Daisy," I stutter, feeling embarrassed that I can't seem to tear my eyes away from you: your body is toned and seems to be glowing with vitality. "I – uh – " 

Your smile becomes a smirk, and you saunter across the room towards me, then place your hand on my chest and push me back against the wall. A involuntary moan escapes me, and you raise your eyebrows at me.

"You like that, do you Phil?"

"I – yeah," I breathe.

"You like a woman who takes charge?" I nod, breathless and achingly hard. "And you like me?"

"So much," I mumble, and your face lights up.

"Good, 'cos I like you." You press your body against mine, and I automatically wrap my arms around you as you nip at my bottom lip, then drag your tongue along it. My cock grows harder, which shouldn't be possible, and I moan into your mouth as your prise mine open and plunge your tongue inside.

I moan even more loudly when you insinuate your hand into my pants, curling your fingers around my hot, hard dick, and sliding your hand upwards in a tantalisingly slow motion. You thumb the head and my knees turn to jelly.

"D-Daisy, please," I beg, although I'm not entirely sure what I'm begging for – more of this, or to be inside you. 

You stroke me slowly, the pace of your hand in sharp contrast to the frenzy of your kisses, and my entire body seems to become boneless until it feels as if it's only your body pressing against mine that's keeping me from sliding down the wall to the floor.

Just as I'm sure I'm about to climax – which would be a total waste as far as I'm concerned, you squeeze my balls, then withdraw your hand. I whimper, both in relief and a little in disappointment, and feel you smile against my lips. 

"How do you want to have me, Phil?" you ask, your breath hot against my skin as you lean in to speak quietly in my ear. "Want to fuck me against the wall? On the floor? Bent over the end of the bed? Or shall I ride you on the bed?"

"I – oh god – I – " I gasp and stutter, rendered almost speechless by the images your words have conjured in my head. "Against the wall," I finally manage to say, and you pull back a little to grin at me, eyes bright.

"Good choice, Phil," you say, then help me out of my coat, before tugging off my polo shirt. 

You step back and I whine at the loss of contact of your body, then I realise you're picking up your jeans from the floor where you'd tossed them before I came in. You pull out a box of condoms and I can only stare, as you move back to where I remain propped against the wall.

"I wasn't sure if we'd get to fuck tonight," you say, and I realise you're blushing, as if you're embarrassed or think you were being presumptuous. "But I wanted to be prepared, just in case."

"I'm glad you were," I say immediately. 

You look relieved, then you move back into my personal space and tug my jeans down, freeing my cock. I groan when you kneel on the floor to unfasten my shoes: you look very enticing, on your knees at my feet, and your nipples hard beneath the silk of your bra. 

Then you clasp my cock and roll a condom down its length, and I can't wait to be inside you. I reach for your bra when you stand up, and you obliging turn your back towards me so I can unfasten it, then you turn back and lower the straps tantalisingly slowly, and I clutch the base of my cock, squeezing it hard so I won't shoot off and pre-empt the moment. 

"Daisy," I moan. "You're so gorgeous. And so, so sexy." 

You smile, then toss the bra aside, and as I gaze appreciatively at you, I notice the damp spot on the crotch of your panties, and I find myself grabbing your hips and pulling you close. I slip the panties down, then push a finger inside you, finding your sex to be already very wet, and deliciously warm. You start kissing me again as I work a second finger inside you and begin to fingerfuck you in earnest. You come hard and fast, your muscles clenching tightly and your juices soaking my fingers, and it's all I can do not to come too, but I manage to hold it off by mentally reciting the team's match statistics.

"God, Phil," you gasp. "I felt sure you'd be good at that."

"You've thought about it?" I ask in surprise.

You smirk. "Phil, I've been thinking about fucking you since I first laid eyes on you. It was lust at first sight." You nip at my bottom lip, then drag your mouth along my jaw, sucking and biting at my flesh until your mouth latches onto my ear, and I gasp loudly.

"Daisy, if you keep that up, I'm gonna come."

You chuckle, then pull your mouth away. "And that would be a waste."

"Yes it would," I say vehemently, and you chuckle again, a sound that seems to lodge in my groin. I turn us around so that your back's against the wall, then I pick you up, and you sink down onto my rigid shaft, swearing softly but comprehensively as I stretch your walls so you can take me in. Your sex feels even better when it's around my cock not my fingers, and I waste no time in shifting you into the spot that feels most comfortable, and then I begin to thrust. 

I haven't fucked someone against a wall since I was teen, and my first boyfriend and I fucked in an alley behind the local theatre after watching one of the Star Wars movies. It feels even more glorious than I remembered.

You come again pretty quickly, and I can only manage a few more thrusts before my climax hits me.

"Fuck," you moan. "That was so good."

"Yeah," I agree, breathless and still aroused. 

"I know you offered to buy me dinner," you say, "but can I get a rain check on that? Get room service and just stay here?"

"Yes," I say. To be honest, I'd probably agree to just about anything at the moment.

We grab a shower together, then pull on the complimentary bathrobes, before we adjourn to the bed. You grab the room service menu, and lean into my shoulder so we can look at it together, and I realise that I can't remember the last time I felt this happy and relaxed. I press a kiss to the top of your head, which smells of your shampoo, then grab the handset in order to call room service. I have a feeling this is the start of something wonderful.


End file.
